NATASHA

Siobhan's presence lifts me up and fills me with hope. So, of course, her departure after lunch leaves me depressed. I end up napping with the kids all afternoon. After we wake, I stay cuddled with them.

A knock at the door finally pulls me from my funk. I find the estate manager on the other side.

"Dinner is in one hour downstairs in the main dining room."

Summoned to join my family, I clean up and dig out the kids' best clothes from the suitcases we brought. I fix their hair and explain how we're eating with my family.

A wary Hector asks, "Dad?"

"He's gone," I say, feeling tired.

The kids look at each other and then at me. I wait for them to demand more information. Except they're three years old, and Andrew was barely around. His absence isn't a huge deal right now. One day, though, I'll be forced to explain how their father ended up in the boneyard.

Downstairs, my brothers—including the darkly handsome, middle son, Maks—stand near Petra who speaks with her five-year-old son, Laszlo. Katja also lingers outside the closed dining room.

I realize my father is missing. Several men linger near the front door. They aren't dressed in slick black suits like our security. I assume Viktor is dealing with a business issue.

The mood downstairs is animated. The three young children immediately bond, talking over each other. Laszlo is a pale child prone to fatigue and illness, but he's quickly infected by Hector and Jacinda's wild energy.

My mother stands away from us, scrolling through her phone. I catch her gaze flash to the kids whenever they get loud. She seems slightly amused, but her chilly mask remains intact, so I can't be sure.

Before I get comfortable, Roman gestures for me to approach him. Once I reach where he waits near the stairs, he peels his attention from his phone and sizes me up.

"Your face looks worse today."

"I'm sorry."

Roman narrows his blue eyes. He seems so bored of my existence. Unlike Leon, Roman was never my friend when we were little. He was already a preteen when I came along.

"Your children are Czechian orphans," he explains, startling me. "That's where you've been for the last two years. We are having paperwork completed by our Czechian government contacts. Soon, those two will possess all the proper documentation to prove they were adopted by you."

Forgetting myself, I step closer and hug Roman.

"No," he says, going stiff as my arms wrap around him.

"Thank you."

Roman exhales deeply when I don't immediately free him from my embrace. Maks snickers to Petra about our brother's discomfort. I glance upward to find Roman looking miserable.

"Is it really so awful?"

"Your face is nightmarish."

Stepping back, I fix his expensive shirt mussed up during the hug. "You are a good uncle."

"Save your manipulation tactics, Natasha."

"Ignore him," Petra says, standing behind me and wrapping her arms across my chest. "Roman's worried with you back in play, the arranged marriage train will start chugging along, and he'll get run over next."

Roman narrows his eyes at her, only to have Petra imitate him.

Focusing on me again, he asks, "How long will your face take to heal?"

"These types of questions are what lead people to wonder if you're an alien," Petra tells him.

"People are different. She got smacked around a lot by the dead fuck. I assume she knows how long this kind of thing takes to go away."

"You're not fun," Petra grumbles.

"Only a moron would expect me to be fun."

Before Petra can poke at our brother again, I say, "My face should be mostly healed in several weeks. I can convincingly cover it with makeup by next week."

Roman considers my answer and glances at Maks. "The Del Vecchio family will be in town this weekend. Joey mentioned wanting a blonde wife."

"No," Petra says, wrapping me tighter until I'm nearly swallowed up by her affections. "Natasha just got back. Besides, Italians make hairy babies. I don't want a niece with a mustache."

"You're very lively tonight," Maks mutters to Petra. "Can we locate you a Valium or vodka to fix that problem?"

"You're blonde," Roman says, studying Petra now. "And neither of your daughters have mustaches despite their Hungarian father."

"Don't even think about it," Petra scoffs. "I did my time. Now, I'm paroled into a long life of debauchery and zero commitment."

"You're not divorced yet."

"Brandon threw me out for a rancid redhead he met at a strip club," Petra says and then tells me, "She wasn't even a dancer. Just a waitress. My breasts are much nicer than hers, too. Yet, I was discarded."

Leaning closer, Roman taunts, "Yes, you were."

"I pity the woman sentenced to your bed," Petra mumbles, releasing me and moving us away from our brothers.

We return to where Jacinda and Hector dance around Laszlo who finds them fascinating. Kneeling, I quiet their goofy ways by giving them their warning words, "crab apple." They look at each other and then at me before their gazes flash to the strangers around us.

I taught the kids the warning for when their father was getting angry or their grandmother might want to swat them. Every morning, we practiced going from silly to serious. Making it a game helped them embrace the idea.

Once my father finishes his business and the dining room doors open, we're escorted to our seats at a long table. Hector and Jacinda watch me with bright eyes to see if I've noticed how well they're behaving. I stroke their heads and offer them a big smile.

After dinner is served, I try to settle my edginess. Nearby, Leon says something to Maks in Czech. Hector instantly gasps and tells Jacinda how my brothers are speaking their special words. The room goes silent, and everyone stares at my children. I get nervous as Jacinda and Hector speak to each other in Czech about the gross stuff on their plates.

"You taught them our mother tongue," Viktor says.

Feeling under pressure, I mumble, "They learn so fast when they're little."

"Well, I'm sure they'll learn Italian quickly, too," Roman says, winning a smirk from Maks.

My parents reveal nothing on their faces. I do catch them glancing at the children, who now eat around the cooked spinach.

Though I explain to the kids how they've eaten spinach many times, the chopped pine nut topping still grosses them out.

"It's boogers," Jacinda says, amusing her brother.

Despite their silliness, I can't shake my dread as I consider Joey Del Vecchio. Would a man like that allow my babies to laugh and play? They'd no doubt be viewed as a burden to him.

Lowering my head at the table, I imagine these wonderful children in danger. Were we better off back with Andrew?

As tears burn my eyes, I try to hide my panic. Jacinda still notices and whispers how I don't need to eat the boogers. When Hector says he can get a boo-boo pill for me, I promise I'm okay. Though I try to keep my fear low-key, no one is fooled.

"Natasha, come with me," my mother says in a voice dripping with disdain.

Scolded, I stand and ask my sister to watch the kids. Petra gives me a reassuring hand squeeze before I follow Katja into the hallway. Once she closes the dining room doors, my mother stares at me with unflinching scorn.

"You were playing around earlier. Now, you're crying at the table like a child."

I stare into her eyes and try to remember the woman who raised me. This perfectly coifed socialite is a stranger. She no longer possesses the heart of a mother capable of consoling her unhappy child. That's why I'm ashamed to cry in front of her. Yet, my tears won't stop.

"What?" she snaps. "Why the dramatics?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what. The man is dead."

"Of what comes next."

My mother watches me cry, waiting for me to turn off the waterworks. I'm so consumed with dread, though. Nothing registers beyond the prison waiting for me once my brother negotiates a husband.

When Katja's arms wrap around me, I flinch, assuming she's lashing out. Quickly, her embrace soothes my fearful heart.

"You should have married that biker," she says, holding me against her and stroking my hair as I calm down. "He had a crush on you. I think he'd suit your overly emotional ways. But you didn't stay."

When she releases me, I wipe my eyes and mumble, "He killed Ollie."

Katja fixes my hair and sighs. "You remind me of my sister. Gizela hoped to save the world just like you do."

Sniffling, I don't know much about my aunt. Katja and Viktor rarely speak of the dead.

"She thought I was cold to put myself first. But the problem with filling your big heart with the world's endless trauma is the weight of so much pain will drag you down. That's what killed Gizela. She was sacrificed at the altar of good intentions."

"I don't know how to be anyone but me."

"I know," Katja says and brushes her thumb across my battered mouth. "Caring for your children is a smarter use of your time than trying to save the world."

Nodding, I take advantage of her good mood and admit, "I'm afraid to marry Joey Del Vecchio."

Katja wipes the final tears from my cheeks. "The first time that man met me, he remarked I was glamorous like a high-end call girl," Katja says and then cocks her right brow. "You will never marry Joey Del Vecchio."

I smile at her tone, feeling like a little girl whose mom just pushed back against a bully. "Will you talk to Roman?"

"Your brother has no intention of marrying you off to a brute. He's simply angry with you and lashing out. He isn't wrong to be upset, of course."

I lose my smile and shrink in front of her. My mother wraps an arm around my shoulders and guides me back toward the dining room.

"When you didn't want to marry the biker, you ran away rather than come to your brother to fix the problem. When you wanted to keep the children but not their father, you took beatings rather than call for help. Roman was hurt by your behavior. So, yes, he will taunt you with terrible men like the Italian. It's your responsibility not to take his words so personally."

Before she opens the door to the dining room, I hug her tightly and soak in my mom's affections. "I love you," I whisper and exhale deeply. "I missed you."

When our embrace ends, I find her beautiful, blue eyes wet.

"Don't run off again," she says, blinking away her tears. "Petra living so far away was difficult enough. At least, we could visit. With you, we had to pretend you were lost in the world."

"I promise I won't run again."

My mother gives me a soft smile and opens the door where the conversation only consists of Petra telling the kids how spinach will give them big muscles.

"That's how Leon grew so strong," she finishes up.

The three children focus their gazes on my brother who absolutely refuses to acknowledge their attention.

I settle in my seat and glance at my father watching me. His gaze lazily moves to his wife eating her meal.

With Viktor focused elsewhere, I peek at Roman who frowns at whatever Maks tells him. I can't imagine either of my older brothers losing sleep over my absence, but I've never understood them.

After two years away, I feel like I'm seeing my family clearly for the first time.